


Make Offence a Skill

by wickedblackbird



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedblackbird/pseuds/wickedblackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newest Q is, in fact, the youngest Holmes brother. This causes several problems - particularly when he goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

M was more than used to the other bureaucrats in Whitehall attempting to bully their way into the workings of MI6. There tended to be a great deal of bluster and posturing when new Prime Ministers were made officially aware of her existence. Their overbearing rants always died away the first time an international crisis cropped up.

Her agents were very good at what they did.

The real problem never tended to be the elected officials, however. It was the ones with the real power - the people like herself - who did not officially exist. They all knew too much, and used their knowledge as much against each other as against the enemies of the Empire. M was often embroiled in a dance of wits and lies that would have left the rest of MI6 scrambling to keep up.

And the absolute worst of her opponents was Mycroft Holmes. Cold ruthlessness and ambition were not so well hidden behind his amiable smiles as he thought. He was a spider if ever she had laid eyes on one, and she trusted him least of all.

So it had been with a great deal of mistrust that she had first looked through the file for one Caversham Holmes. The problem was that even she had a substantial difficulty in denying the boy's brilliance. M had never seen someone with his talent and ingenuity. She was ready, regardless, to write him off as too great a risk until she received a very interesting phone call.

'M,' she answered.

'Good evening,' a silky voice replied. 'And just how are things at MI6?'

'Mycroft,' she said with a sigh. 'What do you want?'

'For you to put down the file you're holding at this very moment.'

That caught her notice, and M sat up very straight.

'Are you monitoring me again, Mr Holmes?' she said sharply. 'Because I can assure you that I do not take kindly to it. And I do have the authority to deal with it.'

'Not at all,' he said, and there was a none-too-subtle threat in his tone. 'But it has come to my attention that you have been considering Caversham as an addition to your little team of technicians. I am calling to advise you not to.'

M bristled somewhat at his description of her Q department, but it was far from the most interesting part of Mycroft's message.

'You're trying to tell me that you aren't leaping at the opportunity to have eyes inside my operation? I should think I know you better than that.'

'I am trying to tell you that he is not the sort to take orders.'

And was that bitterness in his voice? It seemed the eldest Holmes brother was not quite as in control as he always made out. Well, well. Caversham was looking more interesting all the time.

'I look for ingenuity in my agents, Mr Holmes,' she said. Her voice remained cool and professional, despite her curiosity. 'And I'd remind you that MI6's hiring policies are absolutely none of your affair. Good evening.'

Hanging up, she picked up the phone again almost immediately. 'Tanner? I'd like for you to arrange a meeting with Caversham Holmes. I think he might be just what we're looking for.'


	2. Chapter 2

Though M would never admit to having been caught off guard, her first meeting with Caversham was something of a surprise. He looked even younger than he had in the file - which was exceedingly. Caversham was small and fine-boned, and about as rumpled-looking as an undergraduate about to sit their exams. He had shown up to their meeting wearing striped trousers and scuffed trainers that had garnered more than a few raised eyebrows. More than his attire, however, was his manner. He had none of his brother's oily air of assured superiority.

Which was not to say that he was anything resembling humble. To the contrary, the youngest Holmes exuded smug self-confidence. Confidence which his file (and its impressive list of accomplishments and wrongdoings) supported. He was blunt and almost challenging in his manner, and M found that she liked him rather despite herself.

'You know why you're here, Mr Holmes,' she began, not actually making it a question.

'Of course I do,' he said. 'You want me for your Q Division. There are plans to incorporate more modern technology into the spy game, and you think I could help.'

'I suppose your brother told you that?' she said sharply, and was surprised when Caversham laughed.

'Your computer told me that,' he said, the corners of his eyes still crinkled in amusement.

'My computer,' she repeated flatly. 'You hacked into MI6.'

'Of course. You wouldn't expect me to show up without knowing why, would you? I had to be sure it wasn't another of Mycroft's games.'

'Tanner!' M barked. The man came hurrying in. 'Check with security to see how it is no one noticed Mr Holmes' breach.'

'It was laughably easy,' Caversham offered. 'I could make a list of improvements, if you'd like.'

And, just like that, he found himself a job at MI6.

Caversham slipped into work in the Q department exceedingly easily. He gave up his name with absolutely no fuss. (And with a name like that, who would blame him? M suspected it was almost a relief to become simply 'L'.) His work was astoundingly quick, and they had new technology coming out of Q department within weeks. There were, after all, only so many missions that actually called for an exploding pen. Additionally, he worked long hours practically glued to his computer. Within a day of his employment, the protection systems on their computers went through a complete overhaul that stumped even the veterans. He gained their respect quickly, and was soon generally accepted as the department's second-in-command.

If he knew that she was watching his progress closely, evaluating him for the potential to replace the current Q, he gave no sign. The only major remaining roadblock to the decision was that she was still not entirely sure where his loyalties lay.

Her answer to that question came about four months into his employment.

Mycroft Holmes was sitting in a chair, seemingly examining his umbrella, when M entered her office.

'Good afternoon, M,' he said with a smile as she breezed past him. 'And how is Caversham working out as part of MI6?'

'I don't have any employees with that name, Mr Holmes,' she said briskly.

'Of course.' His tone oozed with condescension, and he consulted a small notebook. 'Then, shall I ask about the progress of Technician L?'

'MI6 does not report to you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do.'

'Of course,' he said again, still in that same tone, and rose to leave. It did not feel at all like a victory. M's hand tightened around her pen. If she didn't know how much the Queen prized Mycroft Holmes, she would gladly execute him herself.

As Mycroft turned to leave, he came face to face with L - just coming in, a stack of files in his hands. M felt like cursing at further proof of just how well Mycroft knew the workings of her department. That would be the next thing she had their security upgrades focused on.

'Ah,' Mycroft said, seemingly quite pleased with himself, 'L.'

'Mr Holmes,' L replied, tone a study of polite deference. He looked past his brother to M's desk.

'My apologies, ma'am. Miss Moneypenny neglected to mention that you were in a meeting.'

M could have cheered at how quickly the smile dropped from Mycroft's face. As it was, not even a smirk marred her cool expression.

'Not at all. Mr Holmes was just leaving.'

There was no choice but for Mycroft to do just that. He looked back once, his expression promising that L would regret his loyalties. Then he was gone, his assistant seemingly materializing from thin air to walk beside him as he swept from the building. They watched him go in silence.

'I would like to know just how that man keeps finding his way in here,' M said, after a moment. 'And how his intelligence always seems a step ahead of ours.'

L turned back to her with a mischievous smirk. 'I believe I can help with that, ma'am.'

The next time M saw Mycroft Holmes, he was decidedly less smug. And seemed almost rattled when she advised him about several of his own employees. It was a feeling she could get used to.

L would be the new Q, she decided. She was looking forward to setting him loose on 007.


	3. Chapter 3

Being promoted to head of Q Division granted him access to any information he could possibly want. Not that it was really any different (he had read his way through half the servers belonging to MI4, 5, and 6 within a week of being hired), but it was suddenly official. And it was fantastic.

Q was also in charge of deciding the direction for the Division to go, and he had plenty of ideas. In between co-ordinating missions and tracking down needed information, he read the files for every one of the 00's. Each of them had their own style of dealing with situations, and their equipment needed to reflect what they were most likely to need. He jotted down ideas for an array of recording devices, trackers, and guns - each cunningly designed to be concealed. He spent hours testing new things on the range, altering blueprints, and coding items to their intended owners.

His favourite was 007. The man was a force of nature unto himself. His file read like a cold war spy novel. Q could not wait to meet him. If nothing else, it would guarantee that things stayed interesting.

It was a rush to have so much at his disposal. Q spent less time at his flat than he ever had before. And even less time sleeping. There was always more to do.

He was testing out a new set of video lenses an hour before he was first slated to meet with Bond. The custom Walther PPK was sitting safely on his desk, ready for its moment of truth, and Q spared a smile at the sleek case as he leant down towards his computer.

'Alright,' Q said into his radio, already typing. 'I'm sending you a message now. Let me know if it interferes with your vision.'

He hit send, watching his message flash across the image of the other side of the lab. Then frowned. It was gone too quickly. Agents would need time to read anything sent that way. A few quick lines of code had the problem solved to his satisfaction.

'Bring them back. A few more tests, and we should be ready to start issuing them to agents.'

Sitting back in his chair, Q reached for his mug. He had been awake for close to thirty hours already, and felt no where near tired. Still, caffeine was welcome, and his mug seemed to magically refill itself as support staff swept in and around the office. So far he had gone through four coffees and three teas without ever leaving his work. Brilliant, really.

Q tapped at the keyboard, bringing up the cameras at the National Gallery. He would have Sián keep an eye on things, he decided. She was showing potential with the CCTV system. A bit of practice would do her good.

He took an absent sip from his mug, and then froze. Rather than strong black tea or coffee, the flavour was oddly sweet and almost floral.

'What on earth is this?' he asked, tilting the mug to look into it.

One of the assistants paused. 'Peach green tea. It was in the break room. Not good?'

'Is it caffeinated?'

'I think it has a lot of caffeine,' she said, looking unsure.

Q shrugged, putting the cup back to his lips. 'That's fine, then.'

It was time to leave anyway.

The National Gallery had always been one of Q's favourite places in London - both for the paintings and the people. Whole worlds spun through the wide galleries, and their observation had given him quite an education over the years. Walking into the designated display, it took no time at all to pick Bond out of the crowd. Q could not help the smile that crept onto his face.

Sherlock would have scoffed at how blatantly dangerous the man was. 007 was clearly out of place in the museum, prowling the halls like a caged tiger. But Q thought that the coiled energy suited the man. The real question was how well it suited the situation. Times were changing, and explosions were not necessarily the best solution. No matter how exciting it was to cause them. Explosions damaged information and equipment, resulted in lost trails and messy edges. But, sometimes the trigger still needed to be pulled. And Bond looked like exactly the man to do it.

He smiled again, looking to his favourite Turner painting. _The Fighting Temeraire_ was a fitting analogy, he thought. Time to find out what Mr Bond thought of it.


End file.
